


Sleepy Morning Routines

by Zippit



Series: gameofcards prompts [4]
Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zippit/pseuds/Zippit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mario wakes up early and finds his thoughts rambling over where his life has ended up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepy Morning Routines

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "far" for a [team_spades](http://team_spades.livejournal.com) only battle between phases 6 and 7 of [gameofcards](http://gameofcards.livejournal.com).

Mario’s come a long way since his first days at Angels Memorial. No one actively hates him right now. If anything, they might even grudgingly like him if he doesn’t push things too far. He doesn’t know why he’s even thinking these thoughts, when he squints at the clock, it’s hours before he even has to be up. He mumbles something into the pillow smushing his face in while sprawled on his stomach and turns his head to check on Angus. The sheet draped low on his back is cool against his skin though he’s not cold. He’s warm enough from shared body heat and Angus is obviously still sound asleep with the even rise and fall of his chest. He yawns, eyes half lidded from the sleep still tugging at his body. He reaches out to place a light hand on Angus’ chest.

Sometimes he doesn’t understand how this is his life. How it settled into something like the normal he always wanted and didn’t think he could ever have. He should try to go back to sleep. Let the comfort of his bed, of Angus’ presence beside him lull him back under, but at this point his thoughts are racing and he’s probably chasing a lost cause. In a couple hours Angus will wake up, stumble to the kitchen, and make them both something half decent for their version of breakfast. He’ll set the coffee to brew and the smell will drag Mario out of bed only in boxers with his hair flattened this way and that and his skin slightly flushed from exiting the warmth of bed. A cup will be shoved in his hands and Angus will start humming to himself while he finishes whatever he’s cooking. 

Mario will be awake by the third sip of coffee and soaking in the familiarity of it all. Maybe bitch a little about whatever they’re having because it’s probably the exact same thing they had yesterday. And Angus will tell him to shut up and drink some more coffee until he feels like acting human again. It’s not always Angus that wakes up first. Sometimes it’ll be Mario and he’ll stagger off to the shower first to wake up because despite what Angus believes he doesn’t run on energy drinks and caffeine. He’ll wander out to the kitchen in a towel, stubbing his toe on the same damn bar stool every time, before putting the coffee on and then staring into the fridge for a few minutes to decide what he wants that day.

The soft snore Angus lets out brings Mario back to the bedroom. To the ease settled into the back of his throat, to the contentment curling through the taste of home, too much coffee and Angus’ aftershave lingering in the air. He finds himself smiling. Watching someone sleep and thinking about what they’ll be doing when they wake up is something he never expected to have. It’s a routine.

Routine was the dread of the weekends when he was left to fend for himself, to find food or people to talk to that didn’t want something from him. It was the slouch against brick while he fought the need for another high. It was avoiding the drunken jabs of his father’s hands after a long day of drinking and all Mario wanted was a moment to sit in front of the TV and watch something _he_ wanted for once. Routine was none of what he had now.

A hand wraps through the one he has on top of Angus’ chest with a light squeeze. The sleep gravel rough voice of Angus murmurs, “I can hear you thinking. Stop it and go back to sleep. You subsist enough on caffeine already.”

He chuckles and shifts to find a cooler spot on the pillow. Angus’ eyes are half lidded as they watch him. “I drink just as much as you do, less probably.”

“Not the point.” His hand gets tugged on and Mario follows the implied directive by moving closer until his head’s tucked against Angus’ chest and there’s a hand resting on his hip while the other one is curled warm and heavy against the nape of his neck. Sleep’s already immediately tugging on him. “You didn’t need an invitation to come closer, you know.”

Mario stifles a yawn against Angus’ neck and shrugs. He mumbles something even he doesn’t understand then tries again. “Sorry” is all he can get out. His eyelids are heavy, drooping closed as the warmth from Angus wraps around him and calms whatever was keeping his brain awake, keeping him thinking about things he had no need to think about.

Angus’ tone is fond as is the light squeeze around his neck. “At some point, I’m going to get it through your thick skull that this isn’t going to go away.”

All Mario musters at this point is a muzzy “Mmm,” which is going to have to be enough because he’s already half asleep. The rumble that soaks through his jaw from Angus is his answer and then he’s completely out.


End file.
